Disclaimer: I don't own Game Of Thrones or anything associated with the show or books.

A/N: (Cautiously peers around the corner) So good news, I'm not dead and this story has not, repeat NOT, been abandoned. Didn't I once promise you guys that I would never discontinue 'Cersei's SheWolf', but then I also made promises like 'It won't be much longer now' and 'updating soon'. I'm so, so sorry to have left you awesome readers hanging for three long years, believe me I know that kind of frustrated annoyance very well, but I honestly don't know how it happened. Real life got on top of me and then my muse did a runner, I guess you can't blame her. This chapter was literally written between fifty and a hundred words at a time, at least until toward the end as my muse came back to me. After so long, I'm sure you want to see more Cersei/Sansa and I deeply regret that they will not be featuring too heavily in this chapter as I have got to lay some foundations for the sequel, but I am working up to some fireworks later on which I think you will enjoy.

Can I also personally thank each and everyone of you for reading this story and offering the amazing the reviews, private messages, follows and favourites, you guys have kept me motivated, hard to believe I know given how long it has taken me to update. But you know, I'll be honest, after that first year slipped by with so little progress made on this instalment, which, I know, is my fault entirely as I need to work on my time management, I honestly thought to myself, 'well its been so damn long, is anyone even going to still be interested in this story?'. But you guys and your support kept me on track, so thank you all :D

Chapter Sixteen.

A thin blade of fiery, flickering orange light pierced the heavy darkness. With every measured inhale and exhale, The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms drew the unmistakable scent of burning pitch into her delicate nostrils. Unpleasant as it was, Cersei found herself favouring the acrid stench of boiling hot tar and smoke above the stink of dank air and the musty fetor of thick mould spreading throughout the hundreds of miles of writhing passages and narrow tunnels running behind the very walls, and descending deep beneath the floors, of The Red Keep.

Held aloft in her pale regal left hand, the lit torch made a soft, spitting sound as it's dancing flames hungrily devoured rags, first torn into long strips all exactly two inches thick then, wrapped and knotted securely around the end of a long stave of sanded-smooth oak, and finally soaked generously in pitch for hours until the torch was deemed fit for use. A dowel of metal wire was expertly coiled around the aflame rags to further ensure the burning material wouldn't come loose by chance, or design intended to disfigure or incite a conveniently accidental blaze. Like many employed in her great Household, the Queen's own chandlers, makers of candles and torches, were Westermen whose loyalty was perpetually clinched between the powerful jaws of the Lannister Lions.

The heat of the flame near one side of her resplendent face made her all too aware of the bitter cold endeavouring to penetrate her fine clothing. Her ankle-length, lion fur coat with it's high collar, the same she had worn to visit Jaime earlier in the day, provided some protection from the icy chill invading the decrepit warren of passageways. Nevertheless a numbness was slowly creeping in on her through what little of her smooth and unblemished skin remained uncovered, like a white frost silently settles in the dark of night, languidly consuming the shells of her exposed ears, the high slashes of her exquisite cheekbones and the tip of her perfect nose. She could feel the stark coldness of the tunnel she traversed worming it's way into the very depths of her bones. Her breath, calm and even, fell from her lusciously full red lips in a fine vapour. She has weathered Winter before. She has survived a cold that turned blood to ice in the vein no matter how desperately one fought against the terrifying chill intent on stealing life's energy away, a pitiless cold that left nothing but death, despair and devastation behind in it's wake. The Lannister Lioness despised the cold, no matter how mild.

An ireful growl, low and grim, rumbled in the back of her throat as she confidently stalked forward in the darkness. The blackness swallowed up the light of her torch, lending her the sense that she was striding forth into nothingness. Only a tiny portion of the tunnel was lit in front of her. The darkness beyond and behind was crushing, surrounding her, shadowing her, drawing her in deeper to reach the unseen. The complex labyrinth of tunnels stretching out beneath The Red Keep had not been constructed with ease of navigation in mind. King Maegor the Cruel of House Targaryen, First of his Name, Son of King Aegon the Conqueror and the warrior Queen Visenya, had ordered this extensive network of tunnels be carved behind The Keep's walls so that he would always have eyes and ears secretly trained on those sheltered beneath his roof, forever watching and listening. Tunnels, that delved beneath the floors in an incomprehensibly vast honeycomb of twisting underground passageways and thousands of bloated chambers. There were innumerable stairs and a myriad of walkways taking countless different paths through the empty chambers and there were no brackets on the walls in which one could place torches to illuminate this place of endless night. The perplexing web spread out under the entire breadth of King's Landing, spilling out well beyond the walls of the Capital and into the Kingswood nearby in the Crownlands. The tortuous, twisting, tunnels were an effective tool for espionage, one The Lion Queen and her Eyes utilised often, but when the House of Targaryen has reigned supreme in The Seven Kingdoms, the network of passageways and crawlspaces had also doubled as King Maegor's overtly complicated, fail-safe escape route designed to confuse and shake off pursuers should The Red Keep ever fall to outside forces. Without the light from a torch in hand, one would be lost in a heartbeat, hopelessly groping along in the black void that offered nothing but a slow death to the unwary, or the unfortunate.

Cersei squeezed the little hand clasped securely in her own. In an effort to protect vulnerable flesh from the sharp cold, she released the little palm only long enough to pull the thick, Lannister red cowl of her cub's finely woven velvet overcoat, the lapels trimmed in gleaming gilded filigree and lion fur at the shoulders, over her daughter's long wavy mane of glossy golden hair, which Sansa had tamed into a single wrist-thick braid, to cover her treasured cub's ears. She took up her daughter's hand once more, linking her long, slender fingers with the shorter digits of her cub. The stoic gemstones of her eyes followed Myrcella's milky white hand as the younger blonde reached up to draw her heavy hood back a little from her beautiful face, an immature mirror's image of her proud Lady Mother.

The Lion Queen's lush and thick tresses were tightly bound back from her incisive, intelligent eyes and face by a wealth of impeccable and stylish half braids, the twists were held in place by diamond clips that winked and glimmered amidst the gold silk of her mane, allowing the long weighty cascade of The Queen's blonde hair to free-fall down to her slender waist. The fall of her blonde hair glided over the back of her tawny-coloured lion fur coat as she tilted her head. Cersei watched, her piercing eyes glowing much like cat's-eyes in the torchlight, as Myrcella angled her head upward. The cold stoicism faded from The Queen's eyes and, like defeated Winter bowing it's head in to the coming of victorious Summer, her jade irises began to glimmer warmly as her daughter studied her closely. Patiently, she wordlessly awaited the question she could plainly see perched on the pink tip of her cub's tongue, the question she had expected to be issued hours ago.

"What is this place, mama?" Myrcella asked at last, her pure, melodic voice ringing out like a bell. Her cub's innocent question echoed down the dark tunnel, ricocheting off the stone walls and spearing into the deep darkness.

"A place that supposedly only exists in rumour and legend, Cub"

In the dim bauble of light streaming outward from the torch in her hand, Cersei observed the flawless arches of Myrcella's eyebrows lowering into a puzzled frown. Stroking the soft pad of her long, slender forefinger over Myrcella's pulse point, she felt her highly inquisitive daughter's strong heartbeat quicken with what she knew was half frustration that her cub did not quite know what she meant and half excitement at being allowed to explore such a mysterious locale side-by-side with her. From the instant she had given them life, she had steadfastly refused to be absent in the rearing of her cubs, even furiously defying her Lord Father when Tywin Lannister had insisted upon a wet nurse to feed her royal cubs, but she would be the first to admit that she had been an illusive figure in her children's lives. Her duty to serve and defend her family to the fullest of her capabilities afforded her so little time of her own to spend how she wished but every available moment was spent with her mate and her cubs. It was her responsibility, her right and her absolute pleasure to protect that which was hers. She was only grateful that Myrcella and Tommen understood and freely forgave her for the regrettably frequent distance of her person.

She explained further, her honey-smooth drawl carrying down the tunnel, returning threefold from the blackness in a haunting echo. "There is no evidence to suggest this place exists, my love. Maegor the Cruel had all the maps of this place, as well as the Masons who built it destroyed in his desire for it to remain a secret. But rumour is epidemic, people think that after it has burned itself out that it will never again rear it's ugly head. They are wrong. The King's Court suspected this place existed a thousand years ago. Far fewer in my Court suspect it now, but they, like those that came before them, cannot prove it's existence, so well hidden are the entrances."

Appearing like the bow of a ship through a heavy bank of fog in the light of her torch, it's illuminating touch reaching out in vain for the narrow walls like a blind man seeking stable purchase on unfamiliar ground, the tunnel came to an unmarked crossroad of stone. The thirty-third landmark of it's kind that she and her cub had encountered within Maegor's lightless labyrinth. The Lion Queen had kept meticulous count of each turning point as to avoid losing her way.

"Then, how did you discover this place?. The fact that I am here with you and your sure-footedness tell me that you have been down here many, many times."

Quick as an arrow and as fluid as an eagle in flight, she confidently led her daughter by the hand around one corner, turning left into a new passageway no more identifiable than the last. Mother and cub's noses wrinkled as the overbearingly wet and earthy stink flooding the tunnels became more pungent, almost smothering the smell of smoke from the torch. The Queen exhaled sharply through her nose in an attempt to banish the odour barraging her nostrils, to no avail. From the vast halls of her memory she could differentiate the depths and dimensions of the web of passageways and knew she and her cub, though they had already traversed immeasurable lengths of tunnels and descended over two dozen columns of stairs, had a long trek ahead of them.

Tearing her hawk-like gaze away from the black void in front, Cersei glanced down at the Heir to the Iron Throne and smiled, a rare unguarded smile gifted only to those extraordinary few sequestered securely inside the fortress of her blackened heart. Soaking up the warmth of her smile, Myrcella beamed up at her like a perfect bud flowering under the sun's life-giving light.

Lifting their clasped hands up to her mouth, Cersei pressed the softness of her red lips to the paleness of Myrcella's hand, kissing her daughter's dainty knuckles, "You have the right of it, my love."

The corner of her sensual mouth curled further upward as her eyes adoringly traced the contours of Myrcella's face and the slender silhouette of her cub's body. Her eldest child by law was growing fast. Taller than most youths her age, the golden crown of Myrcella's head reached just beneath the top of her shoulder. By her maturation, Myrcella would be statuesque, reminiscent of Jaime and Robert's impressive height. The younger blonde's eyebrows had the graceful arch of a raven's wings in flight, arcing above spirited green eyes burning with astuteness and integrity. Green eyes that presently stared back into her own jade-coloured irises. Cersei pondered if Myrcella was aware that the younger blonde had the same soul-searching penetrativeness to her gaze that she possessed, but whereas her stare was honed into an edge as cold and sharp as Valyrian steel, a calculative and incisive stare capable of assessing a person's every strength and weakness, the Princess's stare was ardent and beckoning. The connection she felt to Tommen, while just as intensely strong, was different to that she held with Myrcella. Looking upon her eldest cub threatened to steal her sense of self. Her daughter had inherited all of her favourable qualities, and none of her cruelty.

Cersei lowered the hand she held clasped tightly with her daughter's own until their clutched palms hung between them once more and returned her direct attention to the endless void drawing them deeper into the shadows. The clipped sounds of their footsteps falling upon the rough, unpolished stone beneath their feet was punctuated with the high-pitched squeaking of rats hastily fleeing from the soft orange light of her torch. Casting her eyes about, she could not see the filthy rodents but deducted that the creatures must be close as she could hear the faint scratching of little claws on the floor. Her upper lip curled into a grimace at the thought of walking amongst rats, with their long, thick twisted tails and flea infested fur. As was her routine, once she had ascended back into the The Red Keep proper, looming at least a mile over her head above ground, she would have her handmaidens prepare her a very hot bath in which she would wash away the dirt of Maegor's labyrinth and she would ensure her lively cub did the same.

"That does not answer my question, mama." Myrcella said courteously.

In her peripheral vision, she could see her cub's fiery green eyes narrow slightly with dissatisfaction at being denied a direct reply, but the Lannister Princess did not fall into a wild tantrum, hissing and yowling out bloody threats if the truth was not unveiled promptly, like Joffrey would have in response to her digression, but neither did her lawfully-declared firstborn blindly follow the deflection on it's placative path as cherubic Tommen would have done, like a kitten chasing a colourful butterfly down a winding path, oblivious to the dangers surrounding him. The Queen's smirk was one of maternal pride that her daughter was able to naturally sense an undercurrent of deviation in conversation, teaching her cub to cultivate that talent to the extent that Myrcella would be able to scent a lie no matter how subtle, no matter from whose lips the falsehood fell, would doubtlessly require a good deal of time to ensure the greatest degree of competency, but she was certain that Myrcella would take to it instinctively, like a young lion to the hunt.

Unbidden, her mind turned to the ethereal whispers of a night two decades passed. Subconsciously, she captured her full, lower lip between her perfect, pearl white teeth and bit down on the soft flesh. The lean muscles in her flat stomach curled into tight, writhing knots of anxiety at the memory of her first journey down into this abyss of eternal night. Her introduction to the disorientating honeycomb of winding tunnels, perplexing passageways, beads of bloated chambers and spiralling stairwells was not a particularly pleasant story, and she had no desire to speak of it to her young cub. Drawing from the knowledge that what had transpired that day had been to her own benefit, she found her calm centre and banished the memory from her mind's eye.

A short burst of pain pulsed in her bottom lip and a single dot of deep crimson blood beaded on the Lannister Lioness's bottom lip. Wincing so gently the expression barely seemed to pass over her face, she released the clinched flesh from between her sharp teeth. Sweeping the tip of her pink tongue over her lower lip, she caught the unmistakable metallic taste of blood. Suckling on the hardly perceivable cut to the left side of her lip, she felt the full red flesh throb steadily against the bed of her tongue. Sighing, she ceased comforting the little wound, and trained her glowing cat's eyes on the cub stalking forth at her side.

"One day when you are older, if you truly wish to know Cub, I will tell you of the first time I came down here. But now is not the time for telling tales. You are here to learn." She heard Myrcella hum in the back of her throat, a soft contemplative sound amplified twofold by the labyrinth's swarming vastness, and felt her daughter's fingers tighten betwixt her own. She squeezed her cub's palm in return, immortalising her promise with touch.

Cersei led Myrcella by the hand through countless, wandering, meandering, convoluted tunnels. Time held no meaning in the befuddling blackness as there was no way to discern the passing of minutes and hours. She had plucked her firstborn cub from their den, after partaking in an early breakfast with her mate and their children, shortly after their morning repast and knew from her many sojourns within Maegor's labyrinth that it would be well into the late evening before they ascended back into The Red Keep proper. It was rare in the extreme for her two treasured children to be parted for so long a time. Where there was Myrcella, Tommen was never more than two steps behind. Indeed that morning, after bidding her SheWolf a good day with a heated kiss, she had summoned Myrcella to her side. The younger Lioness had pounced into action, eagerly taking up her proffered hand and looking over her shoulder to ensure her litter-mate was in pursuit. Both her cubs had been utterly dumbfounded when she had softly instructed Tommen to remain with Sansa. As was his mellow nature, her son had easily accepted this with an affirmative nod and a warm smile that had only widened into a grin when Sansa had lovingly stroked his mane of blonde curls. Cersei had quelled Myrcella's bewildered protest before it had even left the tip of the younger blonde's tongue with nothing more than a stern glance. On a day, Myrcella would succeed her on the Iron Throne. The Game of Thrones awaited it's newest entrant with it's jaws wide open and a ravenous hunger in it's eyes, like a great serpent readying to swallow it's victim whole, it was her responsibility to prepare her cub for the deadly machinations of Westeros, far from prying Eyes and Ears.

In stride with one another, attended by the echoing sounds of their footfalls gliding over rough stone and the shrill panicked screeching of rats as they fled from her torchlight, The Lion Queen silently guided her cub down the winding corridor. The flickering orange light cast fiendish shadows dancing upon the cold stone walls. Out the corner of her eye, she watched Myrcella glancing sideways at the dark ghoulish apparitions twisting and twirling in the bauble of firelight emitting from the torch in her hand. Myrcella sucked in a breath through her perfect white teeth so sharply that her cub sounded as if she were hissing at the demonic shadows. The cavorting shadows flung themselves after Mother and daughter, persisting in their mad dance, as the lioness and her cub continued on down the passageway, carrying the only beacon of light in the black void along with them. Cersei squeezed her daughter's hand gently, a furtive comforting touch. In her peripheral vision, she saw her cub's attention dart toward her like a startled deer.

"You are wise to be wary of this place. But you have nothing to fear whilst you are with me." She vowed solemnly.

Myrcella parted her full rosebud lips, words began to gather on the tip of the younger blonde's lips like dew gathers on the downy petals of a blossom. Cersei did not require her daughter to give voice to them. Like countless others, she could read her fierce little cub's intent like words off of a page. Myrcella had meant to profusely deny that she had been unnerved by the collection of fiendishly frolicking shadows following them on their journey through Maegor's labyrinth. She silenced her daughter's denial with a slow, deliberate, challenging arch of her golden brow. The breath on which Myrcella had intended to give voice rapidly left her daughter's lips on a harsh sigh. In the bitter cold of the lightless labyrinth, her cub's expulsion of breath sent a plume of fine vapour pouring from between her daughter's flawlessly full lips. She felt an answering shiver creep up her spine like an icy hand reaching for the nape of her neck. Stoic-faced, she subtly rolled her slender shoulders beneath her thick lion's fur coat, an action so sleek it would barely register to an onlooker, in order to dispel the chill crawling up her body like the whisper thin legs of a spider on bare flesh.

"One would be a fool not to fear this place, Cub. And Lannisters are not fools. Look there." Feeling her daughter's inquisitive eyes fall upon her questioningly, Cersei tiled her head, directing Myrcella's gaze with the point of her chin to the side of the passageway.

"But there is nothing." Myrcella cocked her head, a note of incredulity invading her melodious voice.

The motion disturbed her daughter's thick braid, veiled beneath her Lannister red velvet hood, and a lone tendril of silky golden hair fell from underneath the elaborately gilded edge of the cowl, sliding down Myrcella's temple, to settle above the girl's green eyes. In the blackness of Maegor's labyrinth, the light of the torch in her hand revealed nothing. Quizzical, Myrcella looked to her once more.

"Patience, my love." She advised, her tone calmly assertive with her own surety. The Lion Queen stalked forth, leading her cub by the paw, the flickering torchlight straining, stretching out to touch the cold stone walls standing stalwart to either side. Myrcella growled at her and Cersei full red lips tipped into an amused smile.

"There, Cub, look again." To the right side of the lightless corridor, the stone wall retreated backward, offering up a new passageway to venture down. She lifted the torch higher, casting the bauble of orange light outward further, as she did so a second passageway appeared in the stone wall to the left. As proud Lioness and her beloved cub pressed onward down the corridor, passageways broke off of the primary corridor in all directions, like so many tributaries following away from the main body of a river.

Cersei allowed Myrcella to pull her to a stop. The Heir to the Iron throne looked about, side to side, backward and ahead, her brow drawing downward into a bewildered frown. Releasing her daughter's palm, she raised her pale right hand toward her daughter's beautiful face and gently ran the soft pad of her thumb from forehead to the bridge of Myrcella's dainty nose, smoothing the frown away. Cersei tensed, her every muscle locking rigidly in preparation to snatch her daughter by the scuff, as she watched the Princess turn and take a single step toward one of the newly revealed passageways, peering into the deep blackness with narrowed eyes. The Lion Queen watched over the top of Myrcella's head as plumes of vapour fell from the younger blonde's mouth and rose up over the Lannister red hood pulled up over her daughter's blonde head with each breath. She stepped up behind the girl, bringing the light of torch with her as she put a graceful hand to Myrcella's slender shoulder and drew the her daughter to her. Pressing her cub's back to her chest and stomach, she felt the younger blonde's body stiffening against her taller frame. The flickering orange torchlight lingered in the doorway with them, lacking the strength to push back the darkness. Bowing her head, she heard Myrcella swallow a lump of nervousness in her throat.

"All the passageways and corridors and chambers we have seen down here, there is no marker or upturned stone to tell the difference." Myrcella said pensively.

The Lannister Lioness purred soothingly into her cub's ear, remembering well, the dreaded sense of infinite space encompassing like a great uncharted ocean, that went hand-in-hand with that thought process. Her clever daughter was just then, beginning to realise the ease with which one could lose their way in the Labyrinth and the impossibility of finding an exit. Cersei flicked her precocious eyes upward, toward the ceiling she could not see in the oppressive darkness, allotting herself a moment to truly contemplate the miles of heavy earth held abeyant over her head, tunnels upon tunnels, stairways and crawlspaces, hefty soil and the expanse of the Red Keep proper loomed above. An absolutely tremendous weight. The fatal risks of the Labyrinth were not to be underestimated.

Feeling her firstborn by law lean her svelte body against her stronger frame, Cersei wrapped her free arm firmly around the girl's upper chest, knowing full well that a child no matter how old or independent will always seek out the protection and guidance of their parent in times of turmoil no matter how great or small. She had always protected her children from all manner of dangers, maternal instinct demanded it, and she would continue to do so until the life abandoned her body. No matter how old Myrcella and Tommen grew, they would always be her treasured cubs. However, she could no longer afford to outright shelter Myrcella from the perils of being a Lannister, of being her Heir apparent, of being loved by her. The day would come when Myrcella inherited not only the coveted Iron Throne but the venerable position as Head of the House of Lannister, the strongest and wealthiest of the Great Houses. Myrcella would hold the lives of their Noble family in her young paws, when that eventuality came to pass, Myrcella's graceful hands could not tremble with inexperience. She would reduce all The Seven Kingdoms to ash and cinders afore she allowed danger to so much as touch a hair on the head of her golden cubs, but she recognised that Myrcella needed to learn to combat the malevolent machinations of the other Houses, she needed Myrcella to be equipped for the day she died.

"No. Maegor the Cruel made this place to escape his enemies if ever they seized the Capital, as well as to spy on his so-called allies..." Even as she nuzzled Myrcella's ear lovingly, her voice was a honey smooth drawl swathed in black steel, brokering no argue. "...If you lose your way down here. You will die down here. You must never even attempt to come here absent me, not until you are much older, my love. Promise me that."

Myrcella swivelled her head to the side, toward her, and affectionately rubbed their noses together. She could feel the heat of her daughter's breath tickling her cheek as Myrcella whispered with utmost sincerity, "I swear mama." She stared into her inquisitive daughter's green eyes, the unnervingly keen glint flashing in her incisive jade irises the source of many's night terrors. She could sense a lie as easily as others could feel a breeze upon their flesh, she did not see any falsity hidden within Myrcella's gaze.

"I believe you, Cub. The secrets of this forgotten place belong to the Targaryens. We would be fools to forget that." She clutched her treasured daughter to her chest tight enough to hurt the girl, though Myrcella did not complain, she cherished the solid presence of her cub in her arms.

Silently, The Lion Queen snarled bitterly, her fingers squeezed the stave of the torch in her left hand, in her right, she fisted a handful of Myrcella's red velvet coat at her daughter's shoulder. The blood drained from the knuckles of both her hands, turning pearl white. Had she possessed the much desired knowledge to safely traverse the entirety of the honeycomb of darkness buried deep beneath the rotten splendour of King's Landing, during the Battle of Blackwater Bay, she would not have had to brace herself to spirit Myrcella and Tommen away to the Free Cities where they would have endured every imaginable hardship, to return her SheWolf to her pack in the North whereupon the Wolves would have sought to purge her name from her lover's mind and Sansa would have doubtlessly been pushed into marriage to some pliant Stark Bannerman. She would have been forced to take her own life before Stannis Baratheon could have the opportunity to burn her alive and her head would have topped the Wall of Traitors. Had she known of a route that would have carried her loved ones and herself through the Labyrinth and out into the relative security of the Kingswood. She would have seen to it that strategic plans, long in the making, were laid to ensure that all of her family swiftly reached the refuge of Casterly Rock to the West. The Queen's vicious snarl softened, her expression turning stoic as a now familiar melting sensation washed over the icy fortress of her jaded heart and inexplicable warmth rushed through her limbs like a wave eager to break, making her feel as though her blood were ablaze, while she considered, had their lives not been held in such mortal jeopardy, would Sansa have found the voice to confess her love?. It is so often only in extreme circumstance that one truly learns the measure of a person.

She pressed a tender kiss to the top of Myrcella's head, "Come, daughter, this torch will not stay alight forever." Proffering her palm, she waited for Myrcella to take her hand before she turned away from the threshold and continued to lead her cub down the hall of doorways.

"Some of these tunnels lead nowhere, they simply come to an end. Some lead to chambers with hoards of empty chests inside, bearing the sigil of House Targaryen. Others lead to new passageways, which lead to yet more passageways, and so on and so forth. From this corridor alone, you can enter into one of a hundred possible tunnels. We seek only one. Still it will be some hours before we reach the heart of the Labyrinth." Cersei turned her attention to the torch in her hand, watching the wild flames flicker with greater fervency each time she lead Myrcella passed a new corridor, hinting at a faint draft. She counted the thresholds as they prowled forth, knowing from memory that there were more potential routes through the labyrinth on the left than there were on the right. As she had anticipated, Myrcella did not gripe or complain at the news they would be travelling yet further.

"And what is at the centre of the Labyrinth, mama?"

She had been younger than Myrcella was now when she had deduced that she would be the one to walk in her Lord Father's pawprints, The Imp's defects and Jaime's natural deference to her will had only spurred this self-discovery and she had actively made the decision to hide in plain sight, mastering the standard educational syllabuses with ease while silently observing and eagerly learning from the great Tywin Lannister, in time she had acquired her most valued talents; the arts of expert manipulation and infallible perception. Once, she had mistakenly believed that Joffrey would inevitably find that same all-consuming desire to shed the mantle of child and ready himself for the day the fate of the Proud House of Lannister came to rest on his shoulders. She could admit her own fault, she had been wrong about Joffrey. But she was not wrong to place her faith in Myrcella. Her daughter was, after all, so much like herself. As the Lannister Lioness filled the empty shells of her Father's footprints with her own paws, so too would her beloved cub follow in her wake. Unlike her Lord Father, however, she would never see her daughter starved of the benefits of her wisdom, her cub would never have to steal titbits and scraps of knowledge away like a thief in the night. She would nurture and cultivate her daughter's clever mind for the day Myrcella ascended the Iron Throne and inherited the Lannister duty to safeguard their Legacy.

Cersei, her jade coloured eyes glimmering in the torchlight, smirked, a shrewd, self-satisfied smirk that was often reflected upon the lips of Tywin Lannister, "You are a Lion, Myrcella. There, is where I will teach you to use your claws."

TBC . . .